


A Queen For A Night

by saezutte



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Banter, Cunnilingus, D/s undertones, F/M, First Time, Hate Sex, Kagune Sex, PWP, definitely not a virgin!Rize, virgin!Tsukiyama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saezutte/pseuds/saezutte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukiyama gets dragged from a dignified, respectable dinner party by that terrible Kamishiro woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Queen For A Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OdoroshiRider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OdoroshiRider/gifts).



> Hi OdoroshiRider, hope you are enjoying the winter season and new developments in Tokyo Ghoul:re even though Rize remains, tragically, absent. This is just porn with some setup, not really a plot, which I hope is okay! I tried to include hatemance, snark, and a little bit of fluff even (maybe? Tsukiyama is a weirdo.)

If there was one thing Tsukiyama Shuu knew how to do, it was graciously charm his way through a dinner party. It wasn’t his fault his father, usually a paragon of good taste, had expanded the guest list to include that notorious girl. Her barbarian of a father was around somewhere, probably smashing porcelain and flexing his frankly disgusting muscles, but Kamishiro Rize the Mademoiselle was lurking in the corner of the study, where Tsukiyama was trying to entertain the other young guests before dinner was served. 

Luckily she was only a moderate distraction from the remarkable number of young ladies surrounding him, but he could feel the dark cloud of her cynicism on his neck. 

“ _ So true a fool is love that in your will / Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. _ ” Tsukiyama recited, throwing up his arms with a flourish. “Ah, truly Shakespeare is the master of poetry! The master of love!” 

The girls all sighed but a sharp laugh cut through them. He turned around. Kamishiro wasn’t looking at them, but it could only have been her. 

“Shakespeare is fine, though I’d have thought him too common for your tastes. Wasn’t he a middle class tradesman of some sort by birth? Hardly seems to fit your family’s desired image.” 

He snapped the book of sonnets shut. “Personally, I’ve read some compelling evidence that he was actually the Earl of Oxford, Edward DeVere—” 

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “You would think that.” The girls on the couch staring at the two of them expectantly. Tsukiyama wasn’t sure whose side they were on. 

Avoiding arguments in public was the true mark of a gentleman, Tsukiyama had been taught, so he folded his arms. “Well, I don’t want to demand all the attention. What poets do you enjoy, Kamishiro-san?” 

Kamishiro twirled on her toes in a lovely arc and walked into their circle. All the girls were looking at her now and Tsukiyama was too, studying the cascade of her hair as she tilted her head. He recognized what she was doing, her posture, her gestures, her voice; he did it himself when he needed someone to be so focused on him they forgot to focus on themselves (or rather, their body parts). He hated to even think it, but Rize was better at it than him, this flirtation—probably because her own sick gluttony required men just give themselves to her with a twirl of her hair, which she did now before she spoke. 

“I prefer to look to our own poets for romance.” Her eyes fell closed as she recited, almost sing-song, “ _ The flowers withered / Their color faded away / While meaninglessly / I spent my days in the world / And the long rains were falling _ .”

There was silence and then Tsukiyama scoffed. “Ono no Komachi. How appropriate, a demon woman for a demon woman.” The words slipped out before he could remember his studied politeness.

Kamishiro smiled sweetly. “Who better to learn the truth of love from, than a demon woman?” She turned to the girls. “What do you think, ladies?” The whole circle of them nodded and laughed. 

He was losing them. She was turning them against him. His stomach churned with embarrassment and rage. He cleared his throat. “I may be a romantic, my angels, but a woman like Ono no Komachi—” he looked at Kamishiro pointedly “—is hardly a good model for love.” 

Kamishiro smirked, as though he had told a joke only she understood. “Oh? So you’re an expert on the art of love, Tsukiyama-san?” 

Tsukiyama squared his shoulders. This was an opening he could exploit; he turned to the girls on the couch. “Certainly! A gentleman’s pride is in knowing how to treat a lady.” 

Kamishiro smirked even more, if that was possible. The damned woman seemed to have layers of mocking smirks that Tsukiyama couldn’t even fathom. “And how do you treat a lady? I’d love to learn from the expert.” She wrapped her long white fingers around his upper arm; he struggled not to recoil in disgust. He’d just bragged that he knew how to treat a lady, after all, even if Kamishiro barely warranted the title. 

He looked at her hand, which was delicate but had a grip like a vice. His mind went blank. “I— I— would treat a lady like a queen!” He threw his arms wide, trying to shake her off, but her hand had vanished. She had folded her arms in front of her as though she had never touched him. But he could still feel the tightness of her thin white fingers like a burn on his arm. 

“And would you call her that?” she asked. 

“Call her? What?” He blinked. 

“Your queen. Would you bend your knee to her, Tsukiyama-san? Call her  _ your majesty _ ?” 

Tsukiyama knew he was being mocked but he couldn’t tell how. He was serious, of course. “Yes! A woman is as precious to me as a queen.” 

She leaned back and suddenly Tsukiyama realized how close she was standing to him. He felt faintly ill with the scent of her perfume. She smiled. “Interesting. I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Then she was off with another little pirouette, walking out of the study. He watched her; her dress was really too garish for the occasion. 

“Excuse me, Tsukiyama-sama?” One of the girls, Miss Sumida, said. He turned to her with a start. “They summoned us for dinner some time ago.”  

“They did? Oh, they did, of course. I thought it wouldn’t do to be the first to arrive, but now let us go.” 

He placed his arms around the shoulders of Miss Sumida and another fine young lady, truly delicate, truly well-bred, and didn’t think of Kamishiro Rize again. 

* * *

Except, of course, she was at dinner, far down the table from him. His own neighbors were egregiously boring—business associates of his father, so he was polite, of course, but honestly there was more to life than business—but he was relieved, at least, that she wasn’t next to him. She probably would have spent the whole dinner mocking the meal, a carefully chosen selection of delicacies he had curated himself.

She didn’t look like she was mocking anything though, unless her cheerful laughter at the comment of the man next to her was mocking. He looked away and focused on the cut of ballerina’s thigh in front of him. It tasted bland. He would have to mention it to the chef. 

 

* * *

“What a lovely selection of meat,” Tsukiyama heard Mrs. Suenaga remark as they settled in for blood wine and coffee in the drawing room. 

“My son deserves all the credit.” Mirumo waved to Tsukiyama. He started to move towards him when that grip caught his arm again. 

“Kamishiro—!” He pulled his arm away. “What are you—” 

She had the gall to look offended. “My, my, that’s uncalled for. I’d hoped I could bother you for a tour of your lovely home, Tsukiyama-san.” 

He grimaced. Surely his place was here with the other guests, entertaining, but could he refuse? Kamishiro was a guest too, after all. The etiquette question made him pause long enough for her to loop her arm through his. He looked to his father who gave him an encouraging nod. Oh dear. 

“Come along, Tsukiyama-san,” Kamishiro chirped as she pulled him to the door. Everyone could see them. He could hardly refuse now. 

The hall was mostly empty as she sauntered down it. She didn’t seem like she needed a tour. “So you’ve already shown me that lovely study with all those books you’ve read so thoroughly,” she said, tapping her chin with one finger. 

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“So I thought why don’t we sneak upstairs so you can show me how well read you are.” She smiled but all Tsukiyama saw was a flash of teeth. 

“P-p-pardon me? Show you what?” He tried to remember what knowledge he’d claimed earlier in the study. 

She shook her head dismissively. “That bodes well.” And then she was slipping up a back staircase. Tsukiyama was sure she’d never been here before, yet she was already sneaking around like she owned the place. He followed her up to make sure she didn’t try to steal anything. 

At the top of the stairs, she was opening doors and peeking into each room, closing the door and moving on to the next, apparently disappointed with the contents. 

Tsukiyama dashed after her, closing his hand over hers on the next doorknob. “Is there something I can help you with?” 

“We’ll see about that,” she said, hitting each word like a bell. “First, let’s find a bedroom.” 

“A bedroom? Are you going to nap at a party?” 

Rize tilted her head like she was just fascinated by the spectacle in front of her, but the only thing in front of her was Tsukiyama. “You, Tsukiyama Shuu, are quite possibly the stupidest man I have ever met and I eat men professionally.” 

He shifted back, away from her, but his hand was still caught over hers on the doorknob of a room he knew to be the second floor east wing’s smallest guest bedroom. “I will not be insulted in my own home—” 

She put her other hand on top of his and held it there, an uncharacteristically gentle gesture that made him pause. She looked directly into his eyes and spoke very slowly. “Let me spell it out for you. We are going to find a bedroom and I am going to fuck you.” She sounded so casual he thought for a minute she must have said something else. “Or you can fuck me, we’ll work out the details as we go.” 

Tsukiyama stared. His hand under hers suddenly felt very warm. “W-what? Why?” 

“Because I associate food with sex and I just ate a big meal,” she chirped brightly. “Usually I fuck before I eat, of course.” 

“Of course,” he mumbled faintly, disgusted. “I meant why should I fu— make love with you?” 

She laughed. “Because if you say no now, you’ll never get another chance.” 

“That’s  _ fine! _ ” he sputtered. “I would never— you  _ disgust  _ me—” 

While he was searching for just the words to describe his complete abhorrence for her, her body, her ethics, her everything, she leaned forward and slipped her face into the crook of his neck. The motion moved her so close to him that he put one arm around her back out of instinct. She pressed her lips teasingly to his jawline and began to almost nuzzle him, one hand cupping his other cheek. 

The shock of it drew a small yelp from Tsukiyama. She took advantage of his surprise to step forward, slipping one delicate leg between his and pushing him back against the wall. She lid her leg up against his thigh while moving to suck on his earlobe. He gasped. 

“Tell me how you really feel, Tsukiyama-san,” she whispered in his ear. He realized two things simultaneously: he was hard and she could feel it.  

“I’m just— it’s been a while— I would _never_ , not with a woman like you…” but his protests sounded desperate even to his own ears. The feel of her against him was overwhelming. 

She stepped back half a step. “You’re a total virgin, aren’t you? That’s cute.” 

Tsukiyama glared, but his face was heating up. “And I’m sure you’ve made love with plenty of men—” 

She shrugged with a little half-smile. 

“—whom you ate immediately after, you uncivilized pig.” 

The smile vanished. She honest-to-god  _ hissed  _ at him, a terrifying feral cat sound. Tsukiyama had always known she was uncivilized but he hadn’t realized she was truly an animal. 

“Just be glad your flesh smells worse than warmed-up vomit to me, or I’d eat you right now and you’d die a pretty little virgin prince.” She moved towards him again, but this time just to trace a fingernail against his throat. To his horror, he tilted his chin so that his throat was bared to her. That seemed to appease her and she moved close to him again, carding one hand through his hair.  

“You smell terrible too,” Tsukiyama retorted lamely and too late, but she didn’t, her hair was all around him and it smelled like one thousand flowers died to make a perfume for a queen. Gardenias. 

She pulled him down into a kiss and he didn’t stop her. In fact, he pulled her closer and opened his mouth to her almost immediately, to his utter mortification. Her hands moved across him, just as enthusiastic as her lips and then her tongue in his mouth. She was pulling at his shirt, untucking it as she licked into his mouth wetly and he moaned. 

He’d kissed a few people over the years, here and there, but never with intent beyond curiosity or politeness. It was a different sensation entirely and he was almost worried Rize was intending to eat him, no matter what she said. 

He was also worried that he would be fine with that. 

She pulled away suddenly. “Is that settled? Can you help me find a bedroom in this overdone McMansion?

“This house has been in my family for generations,” he hissed, but he opened the door for her. “After you, my lady,” he said, trying to sound mocking but she didn’t seem to take it that way. 

“I thought we’d agreed on ‘my queen’,” she said as she walked in and sat on the bed. She crossed her legs and examined her fingernails. Tsukiyama felt faintly ill at the sight of those sharp little claws — but he was beginning to notice that everything about Rize that disgusted him was also what drew him towards her. 

Literally, at that moment, since his feet seemed to move towards her of their accord. He moved to sit next to her on the bed. 

“Uh-uh,” she said, blocking him. “I don’t think you’ve earned a seat up here yet.” 

He stood awkwardly. “I thought we were going to….” He trailed off into confused silence. 

She let his question hang in the air for a moment before she said, “Yes. But first, you said you’d treat me like a queen.” 

“I said I’d treat a lady like a queen,” he replied through clenched teeth. 

“I’m not lady enough for you?” She pursed her lips in a mock scowl but then she laughed. “You’ll find when you’re older that all ladies are like me underneath.” 

He didn’t point out she was younger than him. He still didn’t know what she was getting at. His hands felt awkward at his sides. 

She rolled her eyes and, finally, took pity on him. “Why don’t you  _ kneel down  _ and show me you how you treat a lady?” She hiked up her skirt and Tsukiyama was mesmerized for a moment, shocked by the sight of her pale thighs. She was wearing thigh highs, held up by an old-fashioned garter belt over white lace panties that the part of him with an appreciation for women’s fashion certainly, well, appreciated. The rest of him appreciated it too, though if he’d been asked before, he would have guessed she wore lingerie as black as her heart or red like the blood of her victims. The white was so pure that he really did want to see what was underneath. 

He kneeled down, just like she said. For a moment, she looked at him with shock, like she hadn’t expected him to do it. He cherished the little round “oh” shape her mouth made, the slight widening of her eyes as much as she must have loved his confusion of a moment earlier. If doing what Rize said was the surest way to shock her, then he didn’t mind it too much. 

He leaned forward between her knees. “May I?” he said with his hand on one of the garters. 

“You may,” she said, a hint of distrust in her voice. 

He unfastened one and kissed her thigh beneath it. He moved to other side and did the same. She was watching his every move. He almost blushed under her scrutiny and he paused, unsure what he should do. He felt dizzy with the scent of her, not as prey but as a woman, and, overcome, he leaned closer and pressed his nose to her panties, smelling her underneath. The scent was just her, undescribable, but he could tell she was warm and wet and ready. 

“You weird pervert,” she said above him. “Is this what you like? Sniffing panties like an old man? What am I supposed to do with you?” She combed her hand through his hair and tugged his head back a little, forcing him to look up at her. She smiled and he shivered. “If you like the way my pussy smells so much, why aren’t you making yourself useful and licking it?” 

At her words, a deep hunger moved through him. Yes, that was what he wanted, to taste her— but not as food, he reminded himself, sometimes the lines between the appetites were so hard to distinguish. He wrapped his fingers in the white lace and tugged her underwear down over her thighs. 

Underneath she looked more normal than he expected: no  _ vagina dentata  _ here (though he supposed the teeth men had to worry about were in her actual mouth), just a tuft of black hair over curves he didn’t quite recognize from Matsumae’s polite sex education. 

He was mesmerized again and reached out to touch but a sharp tap on the head made him look up. “No, no. No fingers. Your mouth only,” she said, tucking his hair behind his ear. “You can follow that direction, right?” 

“Yes,” he said, swallowing, “My queen.” The words caught in his throat but again the look of surprise on her face was worth it. He was fully hard now, though he wasn’t sure if he was turned on by the promise of sex or by the promise of getting one up on Kamishiro by proving he could please her. 

He moved his face to her, carefully wrapping his arms around her thighs and inhaled her. It was a little difficult without fingers, but he edged his way into her folds somehow. With a hesitant tongue, he licked her. He tasted saltiness, not at all a terrible taste even for his delicate palette, and pressed harder, feeling around with his tongue. An opening, more wetness, a little hmm from Rize above him. He looked up at her, swirling his tongue as lewdly as he could.  

“A little higher,” she said with the voice of long-suffering forbearance. 

He blushed and moved higher and there was a little nub, the clitoris he’d heard so much about and understood so little of. He moved his tongue to one side of it, as gently as he could, and she made a sound of approval. He began to move more purposefully, pressure here, a teasing lick there. He tested each movement carefully to gauge her reactions. 

“That’s good,” she gasped. “Keep going.” She laid back on the bed and shuddered. With his each drag of his tongue, he felt her shake just a little more. He repeated the action and was amazed to hear her moan. He was doing that to her, he realized all of a sudden, he was the one turning her on and the thought filled him with a surge of confidence. He was the one on his knees, he thought, but he had all the power. 

He might have gotten a little too enthusiastic at that point because he left his teeth graze against her. She hissed. He was about to apologize, but then she just said, “Go harder. You’re too nice, we said _queen_ , not a _princess._ ” 

“You know, I really meant that more as a general statement of royalty than as a literal instruction.” He tried to sound dignified even though he knew his face was covered in her fluids. 

She propped herself up on her elbows and smirked down at him. “You are by far the laziest court jester I’ve ever employed.” He bristled but the way she said it wasn’t quite mean. It was almost affectionate. 

Rather than respond to that, he just went back to sucking on her clit. Soon she was moaning again, her hand scrambling in his hair. She was so vocal and, frankly, embarrassing that he wondered for a moment if she wasn’t faking it, just a little, which was a mortifying possibility, or trying to get them heard downstairs at the party. But Rize was always dramatic about things. He let himself enjoy the rhythm of eating her out, trying to pick up cues from her occasionally barked directions, tasting and feeling, wondering a little about what it would be like to take a bite.

Eventually she quieted. “That’s enough.” She pulled on his hair, dragging him away from her warmth. “Pretty decent for your first attempts, but I want something else now.” She traced her thumb over his chin, which was wet with her fluids and sucked it into her mouth with a thoughtful hum. She was so shameless he felt faintly ill.  

But her shamelessness didn’t seem to bother her. “Get on the bed. Take off that ridiculous suit.” 

He scrambled onto the bed. In the back of his head, a voice was saying,  _ be cool, be cool, you’re the heir to the Tsukiyama legacy, you’re the terrifying Gourmet _ , but it wasn’t nearly as loud as the voice telling him to strip immediately. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as Rize let her dress fall from her shoulders on to the ground in one smooth motion. She leaned over, her breasts spilling out of the matching lace bra, and refastened the garters to her stockings. Apparently she was going to leave those on, he thought, and the button he was tugging on popped clean off his shirt. 

“Are you finished? Do I have to do everything?” she slipped over to him, adjusting her glasses as she unfastened his pants. 

“You haven’t done anything so far,” he grumbled. 

She felt his cock through his underwear. “Really? Seems I’ve done a lot.” He groaned. “You’re so hard. Are you sure you’ll be able to last long enough to satisfy me?” 

“I’ll satisfy you more than enough, you monster woman.” The pressure, perhaps, was getting to him. 

She frowned. She pulled his pants and underwear down his thighs in one swift move. “Lie down on the bed.” 

He did, pulling his pants off the rest of the way. As soon as he was settled, she straddled him. She took his cock in one hand, lining him up against her. But she didn’t move. She was holding herself up by her thighs above him, in her thigh highs and garter belt and bra, just looking down at him like he was some sort of bug she’d found to keep as in her yard and, maybe later, squish with impunity. He felt blood pooling to his cock even more. 

“Can we move this along?” he groaned. 

“Oh, if you insist,” she laughed. “Just let me get a little more comfortable.” She reached behind her back and  _ pop!  _ undid her bra. The straps slid down her shoulders and Tsukiyama was treated to a vision of her pale breasts spilling free. She tossed the bra to the side. “Is that better?” 

“Yes,” he said. He was salivating and she was still holding his cock, ready to slip it inside her. “Can we now—” 

“I’m not comfortable yet,” she said and he heard a slick sort of sliding sound. From behind her back, he saw them, the tendrils of her kagune, stretching from her kakuhou. He could feel one of the tendrils against his thigh and a cold fear gripped him; she wouldn’t, surely she wasn’t going to attack him now. Yet somehow, his cock twitched at the image of her holding him down with those extra limbs. Sex truly did drive people mad, he thought. 

“Shh, shh, it’s fine, you big baby.” She patted his stomach in a way that wasn’t reassuring at all. “I just like to stretch them when I can like this.” One kagune tendril looped around his thigh and the others spread across the bed. They would have to throw out all this bedding, most likely— 

Her kagune tightened around his thigh and she sank down on to him. He saw stars, his poor lonely erection was now seated fully in her warmth and it was more delicious than anything he’d tasted with his tongue. 

She took his hand and pressed it against her clitoris. “Try to rub me while I go, all right?” 

He did and then she went, at full throttle, using her hips and her kagune to lift herself and ride his cock. Every stroke was a full stroke, pushing him deeper and deeper into her. The harder she went, the more she moaned. He felt suddenly, as she gasped and bucked, that even though he was the one inside her, this was all about her pleasure. The rhythm she set was punishing and he couldn’t do anything but feebly try to move his hips—the kagune tightened when he did, keeping him against the bed—and keep his thumb moving against her clit as she ground down him. 

She’s just using me, he thought, moaning, I’m just here to satisfy her, and that thought almost pushed him over the edge until he remembered that he couldn’t satisfy her if he came before she did. How embarrassing that would be, so he bit his lip and talked himself down even though every thrust was pushing him closer to that ignominious end. 

Her movements grew sloppier and he hoped, prayed, that this was what a woman looked like when she was close to coming. She threw her head back with a series of little moans and gasps. He felt dizzy. 

“Ah, Tsukiyama-san!” she cried and then she slumped, lowering herself onto him one last time and falling forward onto his chest. He felt the kagune retract and the agony of being inside her without being able to move. 

With a quick movement, he slipped out of her and flipped them over. Her dark hair fanned out behind her on the pillows and her eyes were laughing. 

“My, my, finally getting antsy, are you?” she said.

He grimaced. “Not at all, ma petite, I just can’t let you run the show the whole time.” 

She honest-to-god laughed out loud and he felt slightly wounded. “It’s fine. I got mine, so give me your best.” 

He took that as his cue to enter her again. He leaned forward to press their bodies together every inch he could, feeling the sticky cling of their sweat mixing together. It was disgusting, it was everything he’d ever hoped to avoid in his dignified, delicious life, but as he kissed her neck, he was tempted to take a bite. 

His thrusts were shallow, with only his hips moving haphazardly, unwilling as he was to pull himself from her to gain any leverage to move. Then her arms snaked around his neck and something else too — her kagune, still unfurled and still slick, curled around his upper thighs, tying him down to her. One tendril pressed behind him, to his own opening, and he knew what she wanted. He moved his legs apart, trying to be as open to her as she was to him. 

It slid in. The pressure was slight, just the tip, and it didn’t thrust exactly, but it seemed to coil in time with his own rhythm, hitting a sweet spot inside of him just as he was pulling out of her. It was a stretch though, a tightness he’d never expected. The sensation was too much and he didn’t know if he could handle it. His arms around her were shaking and he hoped she wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t mock him for this at this exact moment. 

“Good boy,” she murmured, not mocking at all, combing her fingers through his hair. “You’re so very good.” 

And that was even worse, in its way. He sobbed into her neck, breathless, stopping while he was still inside her. The pressure from the kagune inside him and the pressure from her vagina around him 

“You feel so good, Tsukiyama-san,” she said, still petting his head. “You’re so tight around me,” she gave a little flick of her kagune, “and so full inside me.” 

He was speechless, but that wasn’t a surprise. He pushed himself up a little so he could see her. Her kakugan were dark and her pupils were blown and he figured he must have looked much the same. When she looked like this, he could almost forget he hated her. 

“Thank you,” he said and he kissed her. She opened her mouth in a gasp underneath his as he thrust into her again. Their mouths were still connected as he came, spilling himself inside her. 

The kagune pulled out as he did, leaving him feeling open and exposed. He rolled over next to her and was surprised when she pulled him back to her chest. 

Surprised, maybe, but he didn’t object to pillowing his head on her lovely breasts for a moment. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a cuddler,” he said but he put an arm her waist anyway. 

“Usually I’m so hungry by this point, I just eat and run. That’s hardly an option here.” 

He sighed in relief. He’d been a little worried that Rize would fall into her usual habits and decide to go full cannibal on him. But that almost seemed like a better option than dealing with the fact that he’d just  _ made love  _ with — well, okay, he could say it,  _ fucked _ — Kamishiro Rize. He supposed they would have to talk about it sometime. “So that was fun, though—” 

She groaned. “Please don’t talk. You’re cute when you’re pathetically gagging for my cunt—” he yelped in protest, at the language as much as the characterization “—but honestly, every time you open your mouth to speak, I’m tempted to gag you.” 

“Excuse me!” He sputtered. “You think you’re so attractive that you can just  _ accost  _ young gentlemen at parties and lead them into your sick— perverted— debaucheries—” He was just firing up for a serious rant when she, out of nowhere, kissed him on the top of his head. “I— what?” 

She giggled and her giggles were honestly creepier than any of her more dramatic laughs. “Definitely a gag next time.” 

He laughed at that too. There would definitely not be a next time, he promised himself right then, before he settled in against her to doze off, her arms around his back. 


End file.
